


Brienne the Beauty

by TeamGwenee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Beauty Pageant AU, F/M, Fluff, Fluff Fluffety Fluff Fluff Fluff, Hurt and comfort, Modern AU, Rom-com
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:54:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25712413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: The Miss Casterly Rock might have been a cornerstone of Brienne's tiny home town, but she has always known it wasn't for the likes of her. Where was a girl like here even to begin going about learning to be a Beauty Queen?
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 102
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Very loosely inspired by the novel and netflix film, Dumplin'. Hope you enjoy!

Looking back at the evening, Brienne recognised she made two crucial mistakes. The first, accepting when Hyle Hunt asked her to be his date to the Riverbarn Country Club’s Wintermas Dance. The second was agreeing to go at all.

Brienne hadn’t wanted to get up on that stage at all. The thought of herself, singing before all those people, it would have been easier just to pluck out her fingernails, one by one. But Mrs Stark had asked her, and Brienne couldn’t deny Mrs Stark anything.

“It’s nothing. Just one song. Everyone will pretend to enjoy it to be polite, and then you can all forget it,” had become Brienne’s mantra, whenever she thought about it. At night, running through the lyrics in her head. In the shower. Walking to the shops. Waiting backstage five minutes before curtain. “It’s just one song, and it will make Catelyn happy.”

It was such a small thing, after everything Cat had done for her. Tullys and Tarths had been friends for years. Back in his university days, Selwyn Tarth had been roommates with Cat’s Uncle Brynden. The ‘Blackfish’ as they called him, Brienne had no idea why, was a local homegrown hero. He had been a premier league wrestler. When he retired, he used his award money to buy a bar called The Queensgaurd. 

Cat had been Brienne’s singing teacher, and when Selwyn had died last year, she had taken Brienne into her home.

It was going to be Brienne’s first Wintermas without her Dad, and she was dreading it. Thinking of all their old traditions ripped open the barely healed scars his death had left. Going fishing for the perfect Wintermas Trout, their midnight walk up to Casterly Point to welcome the arrival of Spring. 

Despite having five children and two nephews already demanding her attention, Cat had done everything she could to ease Brienne through her grief, helped her with her college applications, and tried so hard to make Wintermas merry for Brienne. For her sake, Brienne wished she could appreciate it more. 

Getting on stage and singing one, stupid song, was really the least Brienne could do. 

Hyle’s invite had come as a surprise. They had been chemistry partners for that term and they got on ok. He didn’t mock her the way the other boys did, and he made her laugh. Brienne didn’t expect their date to lead to some great romance, but it would have been nice to spend the evening with a friend. He even managed to keep her distracted before her song and came backstage just to wish her luck.

She now knew why. When she got up on stage, ready to sing _Jenny of Oldstones_ , the tinkling music of the pianist was drowned out by loud, low moos and neighs, blaring from the sound speakers the second she opened her mouth. Brienne just stood there, unable to gather the wits to just walk away, even as the tragic voice of her much maligned self-respect screamed and pleaded for her to do so. She could feel the audience focusing in on her bovine features. Her large, crooked teeth. Her big broken nose, and wide, witless eyes.

The laughter that broke out was nervous and uncertain, except for the loud guffaws and cackles echoing from the back of the hall. Brienne blinked unsteadily in the bright fairy lights, locating the source of the laughter.

Ron Connington, Ben Bushy, Mark Mullendore, all their cronies.

And Hyle. Hyle at least looked somewhat shamefaced, and it was his half hearted laughter that snapped Brienne out of her shock. _He knew it was wrong._ It took all her self control not to storm over and plant her fist on his nose. They wanted to mock her for being a big girl, they had forgotten big girls packed a punch. Forget cow, she was a raging bull. 

Cat and the pianist rushed to turn the speakers off, trying to figure out how the ipod got hooked up to loud speakers in the first place. 

~

“Are you ok?”

Brienne snapped her head up, locating the source of the sugary voice. A beautiful blonde, in a festive green silk dress with cold diamond earrings hanging down to her throat, stood above her. Behind her, the streetlights illuminated the gold in her hair, and she smiled benevolently down on Brienne.

Brienne hastily wiped away her snot on the back of her cardigan sleeve.

“‘T’riffic,” she mumbled.

Cersei Lannister was a minor celebrity in Casterly Rock. Not only was she the local millionaire, Tywin Lannister’s daughter, she had won the Miss Casterly Pageant two years ago. She joined the pageant committee and using her father’s name and wealth, practically seized control, running Westeros’s oldest Beauty Pageant despite being only twenty years old. 

Brienne had seen her sashaying around school with her twin brother, their train of devoted servants trailing behind them. They never paid any attention to Brienne, except to make the odd scornful comment. Too lowly. She had chatted with their younger brother a few times, Tyrion, who had graduated the year before and had since escaped to University.

Brienne hadn’t seen Jaime at the dance. Last she heard, he and his father had a big blow out and Jaime moved out of the family estate. He was now working at the Queensguard and lived in the tiny flat above at a knocked off rent.

The Blackfish, as he was called for reasons beyond Brienne, had commented that Jaime had grown a lot since his schooldays. Perhaps Cersei had too, and was sincere in her concern? Maybe the last two years working alongside young girls had made her empathetic and compassionate?

“It was just so cruel,” Cersei sighed, shaking her head morosely. “Putting you on the spot like that.”

Brienne grimaced, smiling ruefully. “I’m used to it. Those boys are always giving me shit.”

Cersei’s pink mouth pouted in a mou of confusion, before she shook her head, golden locks bouncing.

“Oh no,” she corrected, “Not _them_ . What else can you expect? Boys will be boys. No, Mrs Stark. Pushing your forward like that, making you take a spotlight. She was practically offering you up as bait.” She patted Brienne’s shoulder consolingly. “Some people just don’t understand that not _everyone_ is meant for the spotlight.” 

With one last dazzling smile, Cersei turned on her heels and returned to the Clubhouse, radiant in the fairy lights. Brienne watched her go, a hot ache kindling in the pit of her stomach. 

She was no stranger to sick feelings in her stomach. She was practically a connoisseur. She could feel the rumbling and the nausea and think, ‘ah yes, shame and humiliation today’. Or a dull, empty gnawing and say ‘oh defeat, my old friend’.

This particular sensation, the red hot burning, was new, and dangerous, and a little bit thrilling.

Brienne looked at the entrance through which Miss Casterly Rock 2018 had entered to greet her adoring subjects, a plan forming in her mind. 

She shook her head. It was crazy. She couldn’t. She would be mad.

_‘Snap out of it Brienne,’_ she told herself. _‘That’s not for the likes of you.”_

And _yet_. 


	2. Chapter 2

It was the last day of term before Wintermas Break, and the first and last day to sign up for the Miss Casterly Pageant.

The Miss Casterly Pageant was a legacy. The pride and joy of Casterly Rock. Held on the day before New Years Eve in the old Ruby Rock Theatre, nearly two thousand people came to watch Miss Casterly claim her crown. They even drove in over from Lannisport to come watch. It was Casterly Rock’s one claim to fame.

Technically, all girls aged eighteen were eligible, but the winners were nearly almost always from Lady Joanna’s. On her first day, Brienne thought all the girls looked like beauty queens, with their professionally done hair and tailored uniforms. Brienne had gotten into Queen Joanna’s through a scholarship, and had to buy the two hundred dragon uniform second hand. At least the winter uniform was grey and navy blue, which matched the walls of the hallways and allowed her to blend. A head taller than all the other girls  _ minimum,  _ Brienne had felt from the start she did jutted out. 

In fairness to them, some of the girls had been friendly, and would have been friends perhaps, if Brienne hadn’t been intimidated the fuck out of them. And it was hard weeding out the sincere smiles from the poison ones. Brienne had never much credited her ability to read people, expecting slights but looking for kindness, it was a game she was better off not playing.

But it was the boys who really sought to make Brienne’s life a misery. Constant, never ending harassment from the same gaggle of boys who found Brienne large, silent and seemingly devoid of ‘feminine weakness, the ideal recipient for all their underlying disdain for the female sex. There was nothing redeeming in her version of womanhood.

Mrs Lannister-Frey, Brienne’s form tutor and Miss Casterly Rock Pageant board member, stood before the class just before the bell rang and asked the students to look at her.

“As this will be my last chance to speak to you all before you go home for the holidays, I want to remind you to study hard and use this time for revision. One hour a day will make such a difference, and will leave you plenty of spare time to enjoy the Wintermas season.”

Some of the class nodded, others rolled their eyes. One or two students may have made a solemn vow to study hard over the break, whilst others knew from the start their books would be shoved under their bed and forgotten until the new year. Either way, Mrs Lannister-Frey would be lucky if most of her form managed to put together two hours  _ proper  _ revision between them.

_ And no, opening your books to the right page and skimming over the words with one eye did not count. _

“Ladies, I would also like to remind you that today is your only chance to sign up for the Miss Casterly pageant. If you would like to do so, come to me after the bell rings and I will put your name down and give you a form to fill out.”

A few excited giggles burst from a group of girls, all huddled around Margaery Tyrell, their Queen Bee. The girls all wore their school uniforms like Gucci, their school bags were designer, their hair professionally blown out. Margaery Tyrell sat at the centre of their little world, a poised and pleasant smile on her pink lips, giving Talla Tarly’s hand a friendly squeeze of excitement. Margaery was pretty, with brown ringlets and sweet doe eyes. She was clever; the top of nearly every class, and the president of the Music Club  _ and _ the Young Philanthropists Society. She had a smile for everyone, including Brienne, but there was something in Margaery’s dark eyes that Brienne just couldn’t read. 

The bell rang, and like an electric cattle rod, it sent a shock down Brienne’s spine. 

Margaery’s court all filed up to Mrs Lannister-Frey’s desk, twittering with excitement, whilst other students began to slink away to their first class. Brienne lingered a little behind, wishing the other girls would hurry up and go so she could make her move in private. 

The girls started asking questions about rehearsal times and parental permission, which Brienne was certain would all have been on the website. They didn’t care that they were late for class. They could breeze through the door as a little posse, and politely explain they were signing up for the pageant. 

Brienne dragged her wooden to Mrs Lannister-Frey’s desk, when she reared back with a jolt of horror.

Mark Mullendore was waiting at the door.

Of course, he was dating Margaery’s cousin Megga, and  _ Seven forbid _ she carry her own bag to class.

_ ‘He will see me,’ _ Brienne thought in a blind panic.  _ ‘He will see me and he will tell Hyle and Ron and Ben and Owen and everyone will know and it will be all over the school.’ _

_ Fool,  _ a small, scornful face said.  _ Of course people will know. Did you think they were going to let you compete in private? What are you doing this for anyway? _

“Mrs Lannister-Frey?” Brienne asked a calm, bold voice that came out nowhere. Brienne knew it sounded like it had come out of her mouth, but hearing its confidence Brienne knew it had to be a mistake. 

Mrs Lannister-Frey turned a indulgent smile towards Brienne. “Yes Brienne? Would you like to ask about revision?”

It would be so easy to say yes. Brienne was a known swot. Through pushing herself she managed to get good grades and keep her scholarship, but all her life she had been slow and she needed to put in the extra work to keep ahead. She could ask Mrs Lannister-Frey for some old exam papers, and everything would go on as before.

“No” Brienne said blankly, “I want to sign up for the pageant.”

A few of the girls let out small titters, as though Brienne was being sarcastic. Mark let out a loud guffaw, practically slapping his knee in mirth. 

Brienne kept her eyes fixed on Mrs Lannister-Frey.

“Do you really Brienne?” the teacher asked in an aggressively neutral voice.

“Yeah! Do sign up, Beauty!” Mark jeered. “You can do your farmyard impressions for your talent.”

Margaery turned on her heels to face down Mark. “I know all about your little prank,” she said coldly. “It was vile. You and your little friends are pathetic.”

Brienne blinked, she had never seen or heard a cross word from Margaery once. And yet here she was, scowling at Mark. The perfect porcelain princess, actually had a line in her forehead. On Brienne’s behalf!

Like dominoes, Margaery’s friends fell into line, shaking their heads and tutting. Even Megga.

Margaery switched on her megawatt smile and turned back to Brienne. “I think it will be a really good idea Brienne,” she trilled. “The pageant is going to be so much fun!”

Brienne nodded, her mouth suddenly so dry now that the words had escaped and taken all her courage with her.

“Well, here are the forms dear,” Mrs Lannister-Frey said, watching Brienne with mild fascination, as though she was a cat that had learned to roar.

Brienne smiled in thanks and took the papers.

“That is,” Mrs Lannister-Fret added, “If you are completely sure.”

Brienne had felt her shoulders rising slowly to her ears, but at these words she dropped them again.

“Can I borrow a pen please Margaery?” she asked pointedly.

Margaery beamed. “Of course. Blue ink, or red?”

Brienne picked a pen and signed her name in red ink. 


	3. Chapter 3

“What is  _ she  _ doing here?” Lysa Arryn hissed into Mrs Lannister-Frey’s ear.

Cat’s sister shared her big sister’s blue eyes and red hair, but in personality she lacked several of Cat’s qualities, such as charm, kindness, rational thought and general baseline decency. 

“I believe she is here to rehearse for the opening pageant number,” Mrs Lannister-Frey said calmly.

The pair were sat side by side, signing in the contestants as they filed into the Ruby Rock Theatre. Both had been crowned Miss Casterly, once upon a time. The beauties of their day. 

Since then, they had both married young, married rich, left widowed young, and left widowed rich. Mrs Lannister-Frey had three boys in her early twenties, all of whom had left home as early as they could. She started training to be a teacher when she was forty one, shortly after her youngest had fled for King’s Landing on his eighteenth birthday, because she missed the thrill of putting dread into the lives of snot nosed teenage boys.

Her beauty queen days long behind her, Genna Lannister-Frey had been happy to put her crown on display, and indulgently surrendered herself to middle age spread. She endured working on the pageant with her diva niece, because watching those girls scrabble every year only vindicated her choice to stop giving a fuck, and made her reflect on how pleasant life was now that she only bothered shaving during summer. And even then, only the bits that showed. 

Lysa Arryn had taken a different path. The pageant board was the closest thing she had ever done to working. Outside of pageant season, her life revolved around yoga classes, nail appointments, trips to the hair salon, being pampered at the spa, and doting on her young son. Even before her husband’s death, she delighted in flirting with her bronzed and buffed personal trainers, batting her eyelashes and rubbing against their coquettishly. Cackling at their most moderate of remarks, slapping their bare chests and wagging a finger in their faces as they looked on impassively, mutely noting down every paw and rub to spill out to their therapists at a later date. 

Lysa had the stretched out, pinched and plastic look of someone who was no stranger to the surgeon’s knife. In a bid to keep a hold of her once famous beauty, she had been pinned and tucked and tightened and peeled. Her botox regime meant her forehead had been pricked with enough needles to make a hedgehog jealous. 

Most impressive was the shelf jutting out of her chest beneath her pink cashmere jumper. Sharp enough to poke an eye out, there was an ongoing game with the youth of the town to see what the largest thing that could be balanced on it was. (The current winner was rumoured to be a glass of lemonade.)

Local legend stated that Lysa’s original breasts had been ruined after breastfeeding poor little Robin seven years straight. A cruel, utterly baseless lie that Brienne had straight from Catelyn’s own mouth was completely true. 

Brienne had met Robin Arryn sparingly, on the few times Lysa had consented to him coming to the Starks’ abode for a play date with Bran. During the hours away from his mother’s hawk gaze, allowed to jump and screech and get messy, Brienne had seen him transform from a precious and pampered pet, into quite a sweet and happy; if somewhat warped, little boy. 

Although he would probably spend his teenage years googling the feet of one too many famous actresses, Brienne had been optimistic he would be harmless enough. But then his mother would come to collect him and catch sight of some speck of dirt of a tiny scratch, and the Starks could only watch him leave with dismay, saddened for the poor little boy, and for the man he would grow into at his mother’s knee. 

“You  _ cannot _ be serious.”

Cersei strolled into reception with a clipboard in one hand and an I-pad in the other. Dressed for business, she wore a crisp white blouse and a fitted black pencil skirt. Her red nails tapped in agitation against her I-pad, green eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I’m serious,” Brienne said with a coolness she didn’t feel. “I’m here to compete.”

“Do you believe we are foolish enough to think you genuinely mean to compete with these girls. You?” 

She stormed up to Brienne. Even in even in stilettos, Cersei had to raise her chin to meet Brienne's eyes. The thin, spiky heels of Miss Casterly 2018's shoes were so high and narrow, that Brienne suspected that the lightest tap on the shoulder would send the beauty queen tumbling. And wasn’t that tempting.

“We’ve seen your kind before,” Cersei told her, “Bitter, ugly, dull girls. Who are so pathetic and jealous that instead of finding some other way to make themselves worthwhile, they have to ruin things for the other girls.”

Lysa let out a gasp. “Do you mean to say, that you think this is some  _ feminist  _ conspiracy?” She asked in horror, spitting feminist like it was a curse word.

“We  _ are _ feminists, Lysa,” Genna reminded her gently. “Encouraging young women to be the best versions of themselves. Perhaps, someone Brienne will provide some much needed inclusivity. We can promote body positivity-”

“You would approve of that,” Cersei snorted.

“It will be inspirational,” Genna continued blithely on.

_ Well _ . When Brienne was little, she had hoped to be an inspiration. A hero. But that was back when she was planning to rescue a village from an evil dragon. Simply trying to exist in the same world as pretty girls was a whole lot less dashing. 

She could feel curious eyes prickling the back of her neck, as more girls began to file in. This was precisely why she arrived early, to avoid scenes like this. She had hoped to be in her seat and settled in the back, instead of having to walk in on her own.

Cersei didn’t care there was an audience. If anything, she relished it.

“She will make a mockery of the pageant,” Cersei insisted, “Of this institution which has been a cornerstone of our town since the nineteen thirties. I won’t let her ruin it for the other girls. Not after they have all worked so hard.”

“Well, if  _ that _ is what you are worried about, I can assure you Brienne is the hardest worker in my class,” Genna said mildly, presenting a sticker to Brienne with a number sixteen on. “Here’s your pageant number dear. Go ahead and take your seat. The orientation assembly should begin in ten minutes.”

Brienne shakily took the sticker and plastered it onto her jacket. As she left for the auditorium, she heard Cersei hiss “We won’t even have a dance costume in her size. And where on earth is she going to get a dress for the evening wear is beyond me!”

Taking a breath, she thankfully escaped into the auditorium, slipping safely into the shadows in the back seats. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read and left comments and kudos! We finally get to see Jaime next chapter :)


	4. Chapter 4

Cersei dominated the centre stage. The other board members stood shunted off to the side.

“Ladies,” Cersei began in a clear, carrying voice, “Welcome, to this year’s Miss Casterly Pageant.”

Enthusiastic clapping broke out, and Cersei paused to wallow in the adoration. 

“In this very room, sits the next Miss Casterly,” she said, to a chorus of squeals and giggles. “In just weeks from now, she will be standing on this stage, the victor. Who that is, depends on the effort and work you put in over the course of these rehearsals. Miss Casterly is an esteemed and honoured position, and whoever takes that title will represent our proud town. She is an emblem of grace, intelligence, beauty, and class. Whoever seeks to take on that role, has large shoes to fill, and must be prepared to take on the responsibility of becoming a symbol of everything a young lady should be.” 

Cersei fixed a stern gaze over the contestants. “Over the next few weeks, you will all be considered a potential future Miss Casterly, therefore it goes without saying that as long as you are part of this pageant, you will behave in a manner that will make you a credit to this institution, and this town. When I became Miss Casterly, I swore that I would bring respect to this privileged and prestigious distinction, and I expect all of you to do the same.” 

“Miss Lannister?” an eager voice said, “Is it true that Daenerys Targaryen is going to be a judge?”

Cersei’s smile grew wide and fixed, her white teeth bared as she searched out the voice. 

Elinor Tyrell stood in the second row of seats, hand tentatively raised in the air. She wavered slightly under the force of Cersei Lannister’s gaze.

“Yes,” Cersei bit, ice under her gracious demeanour. “I believe Miss Targaryen has accepted to be a judge this year.”

Excited squeals, even ear shatteringly high, broke out. Daenerys Targaryen had won the year before, after her talent turned out to be an acrobatic dance performed with  _ flaming swords _ , which she then  _ swallowed _ for the grand finale. 

All the other girls could pretty much have just walked straight home after that.

Since then, the YouTube video had gone viral, and she had been snapped up by modelling agencies and talent scouts. Every brand wanted her to be the face of their new lines, and she toured to sold out performances. She was an idol in their tiny town. The only Beauty Queen to make it big. Local girl made good. No wonder the girls were excited. If Daenerys Targaryen was judging, the pageant was bound to get some national air time. Perhaps the whole show would be covered!

Brienne felt a wave of queasiness rise in her stomach. She didn’t know Daenerys Targaryen was judging. It was one thing to risk humiliating herself before the town she intended to leave first chance possible, quite another to make a fool of herself nationwide. 

~

The dance rehearsal did nothing to improve her confidence. She tried to stand at the back of the dance studio, but wherever she stood, there was no escaping that she was a head taller than all the other girls. 

The moves were simple enough. Behind-side step. Behind-side step. Step turn together clap. Step turn together clap. Lots of hip swivelling. Lysa Arryn was up front in her fitted pink jumpsuit, bosom and behind sticking out like shelves, taking the girls through the moves. Crying out ‘shake those baby-makers’ with each gyration and thrust, not a trace of sarcasm in her voice. 

Wintermas and New Years was honoured by singing the old ballads, and the song for the opening number that year was a re-mixed version of  _ Six Maids in a Pool.  _ If Brienne hadn’t been in such depths of despair over her dancing, she would have suffered to hear that sweet song scrambled with auto-tuned warbling and shoved in dub-step. 

Brienne began the rehearsal clammed up and awkward, and she only grew more hopeless with each step. Margaery kindly whispered to her to ‘relax, and have fun’. Brienne tried not to overthink and to just move with the music, and using this tactic she managed to get through a few of the moves without tripping over her own feet. But then she caught sight of herself in the mirrored wall, red faced and foolish, and she froze up and missed the next two beats, sending her into a desperate stumble to catch up with the other girls. 

The third time she fell over her ugly elephant feet, she asked to go to the loo, and hid out in the toilet for the remainder of rehearsal. If she was a courageous girl, she would step out and stick to it. Carry through and take her place on that stage like she belonged there. If she had any courage at all, she would have emerged from her hiding place earlier to tell the organisers about her decision to drop out.

Brienne waited a good hour in the toilet stall, all through the rest of rehearsal, ear pressed against the door as she listened for the last of the footsteps and high pitched chatter to drain away.

Taking a deep gulp of air, Brienne left her sanctuary and prepared to face the organisers. She just hoped she could discreetly tell Mrs Lannister-Frey. She couldn’t bear having to admit defeat to Lysa Arryn. Or worse, Cersei Lannister.

It wasn’t Cersei Lannister she came face to face with.

It was Jaime Lannister.

Aggravatingly handsome, with broad shoulders, sharp jawline and wicked green eyes, he stood debonair and devil may care in the reception hall, drumming his fingers idly against the welcoming desk.

He looked up to find her staring. 

“Oops,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’ve been caught.” At Brienne’s look of confusion, he smiled. “Cersei didn’t want anyone to see me picking her up,” he clarified. “She couldn’t get a cab and Seven forbid she ruin her shoes walking home. Or wear practical shoes.”

“Why doesn’t she just get a bus?” Brienne asked innocently, to much amusement.

“Her majesty on a bus?” Jaime cried in mock horror. “No, I must drop everything and drive her home. But I must park at the end of the driveway, behind the gate, and out of sight of the security cameras. Then I must dash off again before father sees. It is quite a covert mission.”

“And why can’t your father see you?”

“He doesn’t want Cersei associating with me,” Jaime said, as though it was the most natural of things in the world that his own father had forbidden his twin sister from seeing him. Or that his twin, a grown woman, complied.

“Ms Lannister is twenty,” Brienne pointed out. “Surely she can ‘associate’ with whoever she pleases?”   
  
Jaime laughed without mirth. “Not if she wants to be daddy’s little princess,” he said, a bitter twist to his mouth. “It’s Tywin Lannister’s way, or the-”

“Highway?” Brienne suggested.

“I was going to say a fiery pit of banishment and shame,” Jaime corrected. He looked her up and down. “You’re Selwyn’s daughter, aren’t you?”   
  


Brienne blinked at the intimate manner of Jaime’s address of her dad. Then she remembered he worked at Queensguard, and must have seen him there.

“Yeah, I’m Brienne,” she confirmed, her voice small.    
  
Jaime’s smile turned tender. It was out of place on that handsome face. Charming, certainly, but alien on those sharp features that were better suited to haughty disdain or detached amusement.

“Your dad was good people. He talked about you a lot,” he said gently. “When he came to listen to the singers, he always made a point of telling me what a gorgeous voice you had. Is that going to be your talent?” 

“My what?” Brienne stuttered, the pageant banished from her mind.

“For the pageant?”Jaime clarified. “You’re competing, right?”

There was scepticism in his voice, even if the words were neutral. Hearing that doubt again; especially from her father’s friend, rankled Brienne.

“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?” she demanded, squaring her shoulders.

Obviously, there were many, many reasons. But Brienne dared this man to say them out loud. 

Jaime raised an eyebrow, nonchalant in the face of her indignation.

“You can’t be Cersei Lannister’s brother without knowing a little thing about pageants,” he drawled, “And what type of girls my sister deems worthy to compete. She won’t see letting girls like you to compete as something to celebrate. For her, ‘diversity’ and ‘inclusivity’ is just lowering standards. If she isn’t coming after you with ninja stars, it’s only because she doesn’t want to damage her manicure.”

Brienne smiled warily. Ok, so he wasn’t awkwardly dancing around the issue. He was stating outright she wasn’t suitable for the pageant. But, he wasn’t treating it like it was  _ her  _ problem. It was, well it was quite refreshing. 

“I, I signed up but…” Brienne looked at her shoes. Her voice was quiet. “I’ve got myself in a bit of a mess. I...I wanted to show that even big girls, ugly girls, could go on stage and stand in the spotlight and take up space.” She smiled ruefully. “I got so caught up in wanting to prove that just because I was big, I couldn’t be a pageant queen, that I forgot all the other things that make me unsuitable to be a pageant queen.”

“Like…?” Jaime prodded.

Brienne grimaced. “A complete lack of grace, for starters. Zero stage presence, and massive feet that turn into flippers when they try to move to music.”

“And you think this has nothing to do with being big?”

  
“Well, the clumsiness I suppose goes with being oversized-”

“That’s not what I mean,” Jaime cut her off.

“What did you mean then?” Brienne asked.

“Well, from my experience, people who believe they don’t belong on stage, usually end up proving themself right,” Jaime explained. He gave Brienne a contemplative look. “Listen, do you want to come down to the Queensguard with me? I’m singing tonight, and they’ve got a good show lined up, that might do you some good to watch.”

Brienne had never been to the Queensguard before. She had never been to any club before. 

“I thought your sister needed a lift,” Brienne pointed out.

“Cersei can stand to use up one pair of heels,” Jaime said dismissively. “She has more than enough. And it’s not like she wears them any longer than a season.” He bared his teeth in a dazzling white smile. “And if she doesn’t like it, well, she can just take the bus.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far! I love hearing from you all :)

When Brienne pictured the Queensguard, life’s work of beloved local wrestling hero Brynden Tully, and her fisherman father’s favourite haunt, she pictured darts and beer and bowls of pee stained crisps. A small stage with a single microphone, and a piano shoved in the corner.

What she got was bright hot pink streamers hanging down the wide stage, glittering brilliantly under the purple and blue lights, plush pink faux leather booths, girl power ballads pouring from the speakers, and fruity cocktails with tiny umbrellas, and edible glitter around the rim..

Jaime laughed as he caught sight of Brienne’s face. 

“Come on,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get a drink in your mouth before you start catching flies.”

He led her to a glass topped bar, illuminated by ice blue lights. Jaime rapped his knuckles on the glass.

“Davos,” he called, “Two Strawberry Sunbeams please!”

The kindly faced bar man, in a casual white shirt and jeans, with a scruffy brown beard, approached.

“Jaime!” Davos replied as he set out the glasses. “Aren’t you on tonight?”

Jaime shrugged. “Only at the end. I’ve enough time to get my guest here settled.”

Davos’s eyes flickered towards Brienne, doing a double take. His gentle brown eyes widened. “As I live and breathe. Selwyn Tarth’s little girl?” he breathed. “Why, you’re the spitting image of him.”

This stranger said it was a good thing for an eighteen year old girl to look like her weather beaten, giant of a father, and Brienne loved him for it.

Davos beamed at Brienne as he fixed up their drinks with a deft and practised hand. He produced two cocktails with a flourish. Brienne sipped, the sweetness of the drink shocking her to life. There was so much sugar that she could feel it settling on her tongue, but it reconnected the wires in her brain.

  
“So, what do you think of the Queensguard?” Jaime asked, watching Brienne with a wry smile on his lips.

“This...this is my Dad’s regular?” she stuttered, blinking in the rainbow of lights. 

Selwyn used to pick off his toe nails on the couch whenever they got too long, and he only wore the same three shirts. The blue top with just the single ketchup stain was kept for best. 

Davos chuckled. “It wasn’t a natural pairing, but he wanted to support the Blackfish. He’s been here since the very start. And he may never have got on that stage himself, but he sat in the front row without fail, cheered the loudest at every show.”

“Speaking of which,” Jaime said significantly as the lights darkened and a spotlight landed on the stage. The noisy chatter and music from the speakers died, as a voice boomed.

_ “Ladies and Gentlemen, Dolls and Darlings, Fierce Queen and Fabulous Kings, here to kick us off for tonight’s performance...it’s the Blackfish!” _

The hot pink streamers parted as a figure burst on stage, to rapturous applause.

‘Well….’ Brienne thought.  _ ‘Well _ .’

Now she knew why they called him the Blackfish.

Brynden Tully, beloved local wrestling hero, feared and famed throughout the land, stood centre stage, glorious in a floor length black fishtail evening gown. The sheer bodice was covered in silver embroidery, and the shoulders were puffed. The fitted fabric flaunted his spectacular muscles to perfection. He wore a luxurious wig of silver grey waves, tumbling down his back. His face was made up with a dramatic smokey eye and a deep crimson pout. 

He revelled in the adoration, before a kicky country tune picked up, and he began to move around the stage with majestic strides, a sassy shake to the hips. He opened his full lips, and broke out into a countrified  _ The False and the Fair,  _ the old ballad put to steamy guitar music and twangy banjos. His voice was deep and sensual, and Brienne wondered how he managed to make it sound so feminine, before realising he was actually lip syncing, in such perfect time that is beggared belief.

The song was clearly an old favourite. The audience tapped and bounced along to the music, joining in on the rapid chorus of ‘Hey  _ non _ ny hey  _ non _ ny hey  _ non _ ny hey! hey  _ non _ ny hey  _ non _ ny hey  _ non _ ny hey!’ with gusto.

On the last note, Blackfish struck a final pose. Hip cocked, arms spread and eyes raised to the sky. Brienne was so stunned that she only remembered to put her hands together half way through the ear splitting applause. 

“That….that was something,” she stuttered.

“Oh honey, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” Jaime promised. 

The Blackfish was followed by Salladhor Saan who worked the ferry, dressed in a turquoise corset, with white and turquoise ruffles foaming over a short bronze hoop skirt. It was decorated with matching bronze starfish and shells and anchors and chains, and the hoop skirt swayed as he strutted to a saucy rendition of  _ Off to Gulltown.  _ His lips were silver, and glittering stars were painted around his eyes. 

Local photographer Oberyn Martell, husband to Ellaria and father of eight, came next, in a cream corset with long silk falling down his thighs. His dark eyes were winged and he moved with a sensuous grace, crooning  _ The Dornishman’s Wife  _ as he weaved through the audience, stopping to wink at or twirl a lock of hair of a patron. 

After Oberyn’s hypnotic melody came Khal Drogo, owner of the local gym and boxing club, in black fishnet stockings, thigh high leather boots, and a black corset with studs over the shoulders. His long black hair was braided with bells, jingling as he stomped and kicked and thrust to  _ Iron Lances.  _

Amidst the thunderous applause, Jaime squeezed Brienne’s hand to signal he was going, and nodded pointedly at Davos to show she could go to him if she needed anything. Brienne felt a little lost without her guide sitting next to her, but she was quickly swept up in Mance Rayder’s performance. 

Elegant and ethereal in a long dark blue grey gown, decorated with large silver moons, and with long cape sleeves falling from his shoulders, he sang a haunting ballad that he humbly claimed to have written himself, called  _ The Winter Maid.  _ He plucked mournfully at his harp, the strings and the song sending Brienne into a world of bitter frosts and giant hearths and wilting winter roses. 

Brienne loved old songs, it was her favourite part of Wintermas. Walking through the frosted forests, with the shadows and the moonlight, her father singing alongside her as they wound their way up to Casterly Point, falling in step with fellow travellers seeking to welcome the Spring. 

She didn’t realise she was crying until the song ended and her cheeks were damp. She clapped loudest for Mance, until her palms were red and stinging. 

Davos smiled fondly, topping her glass up.

“Selwyn loved those old ballads too,” he said warmly. “It was the highlight of his year, walking with you to Casterly Point. What was that one song, he always used to sing?”

Brienne knew the one he meant. “Last of the Giants,” she said, rubbing her cheek with the cuff of her sleeve. 

Selwyn used to sing it to her whenever she came home crying, because someone had made fun of her height. The boys in Year Four had thought it the funniest thing in the world, to call her giantess. But when Selwyn sang his song, for a moment Brienne felt like there was nothing better than to be the tallest girl in class. 

She was in grave danger of setting herself off again, when a fast drum roll started, and Davos nodded for her to turn back to the stage. 

Jaime Lannister  _ kicked _ his way through the pink streamers, lifting his leg as high as a can can dancer. In his tiny tight, gold sequinned shorts, Brienne was treated to full sight of his toned thighs. Trailing from his hips was an open front skirt of gold silk, which shimmered under the light. His eyebrows were arched dramatically, his lips a deep red, and eyes surrounded with gold and glitter. His blonde wig scooped to one side. 

“Hello my lovelies” he crooned, to much applause. “Have you been missing your golden cub?” More cheers. Well I have missed you too, my beauties. The days are so long, cleaning tables and stacking chairs like your own little ash maid, waiting until I can see you again, and be welcomed back into your loving arms. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. You know what they say, don’t you? Hands of gold are always cold-”

“But a woman’s hands are warm!” the audience cried back, as fast, steamy music filled the room. Still standing bold and dazzling in the spotlight, Jaime began to sharply sway his hips in time to the music. 

_ “He rode through the streets of the city, _

_ down from his hill on high, _

_ O'er the wynds and the steps and the cobbles, _

_ he rode to a woman's sigh. _

_ For she was his secret treasure, _

_ she was his shame and his bliss. _

_ And a chain and a keep are nothing, _

_ compared to a woman's kiss.” _

During the music breaks, Jaime danced. Slapping and kicking and turning and stepping and clicking with more vigour and precision than the treacherously high heels of his knee length boots should possibly have allowed.

_ “For hands of gold are always cold, but a woman's hands are warm…”  _

On the final note, Jaime seemed to have sought Brienne out through the flashing lights and smoke machines, giving her one, conspiratorial wink, that was just for her, before disappearing back through the pink streamers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blackfish Dress  
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/177695352465/reem-acra-pre-fall-2017-collection
> 
> Mance Dress  
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/615098731284611072/wulgaria-ombre-moon-gothic-elven-wedding-gown
> 
> Sallador Saan Dress  
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/622897954189164544/royal-black-atlantis-corset-couture-gown
> 
> Oberyn Martell Dress  
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/623723260028370944/royal-black-guardian-of-times-custom-couture
> 
> Khal Drogo  
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/623809424853712896/royal-black-the-guardian-dark-knight-custom
> 
> Jaime Singing Dress  
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/175877043410/zuhair-murad-fall-2018-haute-couture-collection


	6. Chapter 6

All the singers joined together to close the show with a rowdy rendition of  _ Bessa The Barmaid,  _ before the house lights went up and the guests went back to talking amongst themselves, having one last drink to cool off before heading back to their semi detached houses with cream walls and granite kitchen tops.

As the patrons began to file out, Brienne started to wonder if she should join them, or if she should wait around to say goodbye to Jaime. She shifted uneasily in her seat, uncertain if Jaime would be insulted by her leaving, or irritated to find her hanging around after him, when Jaime mercifully reappeared and spared her from untangling that certain social conundrum. 

He tapped her shoulder, and she turned to find his wig gone and tousled hair slightly damp from sweat. His makeup was still in place, but he wore a faded dressing gown and flip flops. 

“If you can spare the time,” he whispered, “The guys would like you to pop back and say hello.”

Brienne nodded, nerves twisting in her stomach. She never liked meeting strangers, and these men seemed to know so much about her, it felt like going in at a disadvantage. Even the Blackfish, who she had known her entire life, seemed a new man to her now. 

But they knew her dad. He told them about their traditions and little rituals and they had heard him sing  _ Last of The Giants  _ and Brienne was no longer the last person in the world carrying the knowledge of why these things were so important. It felt for the longest time like her dad was fading, with no one close enough to share him with. Being in this place that meant so much to him, with people who loved him so dearly, made him feel so present. 

And there was excitement too. This was a whole other side of her father she had never seen. Even after his death, there were things to discover. How could he be truly gone when she was still getting to know him?

Davos quickly put away some bottles and came around the counter. “Things are quieting down now, I’ll stick my head round too.”

Somewhat soothed by no longer facing the prospect of being the only person in the room who didn’t have a flawless smoky eye or red lip, Brienne collected her things and followed Jaime through the staff door, to the dressing room. 

The dressing room was decidedly less glamorous than the inhabitants’ stage personas would suggest. The makeup and hair products and costumes; the tools of their trade, were lined neatly on vanities and hangers, but the walls were bare and grey, and the seats cheap and spartan. The budget for sparkle and spectacle had been spent entirely on where the audience could see. 

The only ornamentation was a notice board, stuck with fan letters and cards and family photos. And at the centre, in pride of place, was Selwyn’s beaming face. In one hand, he was holding a giant trout. His other hand was placed on a twelve year Brienne’s shoulder. Her hair was shoved under a hat, and she smiled without a care for her crooked teeth or red skin. Her dad was the only person in the world she looked like a little girl standing next to. 

“Well here she is,” Jaime drawled, placing a hand on the small of Brienne’s back and urging her forward.

“By my life and soul, you were right Brynden,” Mance breathed, “She really does look like him.”

“Eyes are prettier though,” Oberyn Martell put in, winking at Jaime for some reason. 

Like Jaime, they were all in various stages of cleaning off their makeup, wrapped up in faded dressing gowns. Except for Oberyn, whose wrap was gold silk and came to his thighs. 

“You can bet I was surprised when I saw you sitting in the audience,” Brynden told Brienne as he removed his wig cap. “Thought it was Selwyn come again in those dark lights. The ghost of the boy I met in Halls.” 

Brienne smiled bashfully. “I was surprised to be sitting there myself,” she admitted. “when did you realise you wanted to…?”

The Blackfish made space for her on his bench, and Brienne gratefully went to join him.

“When I retired from wrestling, I missed the applause, missed the showmanship, missed the light and the music and the stage. Didn’t miss putting ice on my groin every night” he said with a plainness that was still so very much like the man who used to go fishing with her and dad, despite the copious eyeshadow. 

“Although,” he said with a grimace, “I’m not as young as I used to be. Those kicks...I may have to start rethinking some of my choreography.”

“Speaking of…” Oberyn said significantly, raising his dramatic eyebrows, “Jaime was telling us about your tale of woe.”

“About you joining the pageant,” Mance clarified.

“And why,” Sallador said.

Brienne looked to Brynden. “It was a mad idea, I know,” she said. “I’m going to ask Mrs Lannister-Frey to take my name out. Hopefully everyone will have forgotten by the time term begins.”

The Blackfish arched a sceptical eyebrow.

“And why would you want to do a thing like that? I thought this whole thing was about proving you had as much right to be on that stage as the rest of them.”

“You don’t think it was foolish?” Brienne asked.

Jaime let out a bark of laughter. “Look at us? Do you think any of us are the type to tell a person they don’t belong in the spotlight?”

“I’m not like you,” Brienne said in despair. “I can’t just...go out there and own it and not care what anyone thinks or says.”

Jaime smiled wryly. “Oh honey,” he sighed. “What makes you think none of us cared? We weren’t born in glitter and heels. We had to fight to get here. Every step. Fight ourselves, and everyone who wanted to spit in our path. Including those who should have been cheering us on.”

“Is this...is this what you had a falling out with your father over?” Brienne lowered her voice. One great local mystery solved.

“Surprisingly no,” Jaime drawled. “We fell out over something completely unrelated. Father has actually been very encouraging about this particular form of my self-expression.”

“Oh!” Brienne stammered, red faced. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed…” she stumbled over the words, to a chorus of laughter.

“Brienne,” Jaime said gently. “I’m joking. No, my father was born with a soul of beige and iron. He categorically does  _ not _ approve. The first time he saw me experimenting with Mum’s makeup, he blew his top and started bellowing, asking what my poor mother would say to see me thus.”

“He had a point,” Sallador said as he applied cleansing wipes to his face. “Your first attempt at contouring was a disaster! Poor Joanna must have been rolling in her grave

  
Drogo wiped away the lipstick from his mouth. “We soon put him right,” he said, peeling away the false lashes. “For his poor mumma’s sake. No one’s ancestors need be shamed with faulty contouring while we’re in town.”

“Which brings us to why we brought you back here,” Obeyrn said, suddenly serious and businesslike.

“What do you mean?” Brienne asked. 

“You want to go on that stage, you want your share of the limelight. Right?” Jaime said.

Brienne couldn’t deny it. She nodded.

“You want to share that gorgeous voice of yours that made your daddy so proud. Is that correct?” Mance asked.

“But you think that because of some sour, poisoned souls and greasy pock-marked boys, you don’t deserve too?” Brynden suggested.

Again, Brienne could not deny it.

“Sadly, twisting their spines and crushing their legs is illegal. And my license for my under-twelves’ boxing club depends on me keeping my record clean,” Drogo grunted bitterly.

“So the only answer, is to prove them wrong,” Oberyn said.

“But, everyone at school…”

“Fuck em! Ignore the naysayers, go charging forward and bring down all those walls they’ve put up around you,” Mance declared.

Brienne’s throat grew tight. They were just being so kind, so generous. “The pageant board doesn’t have a costume that will fit, and none of the shops stock formal wear my size,” Brienne said with a watery laugh.

“They don’t, but we do,” Sallador said. “You standing in a room full of drag queens and worrying about not finding a dress big enough? Get a dance costume that fits you closest, and hand it over to Drogo. He wields a needle almost as well as he does a dumbbell.”

“I’m a dab hand at applique too,” Drogo said somberly. 

“You’ll look fabulous,” Oberyn assured her.

“Me?” Brienne smiled sceptically. 

“Fabulous is about what’s inside the head,” Drogo said wisely. “Not what’s in it.”

Davos, who had been lingering in the doorway, stepped forward, closing the door softly shut behind him. He put a fatherly hand onto Brienne’s shoulder. 

“Your dad was so proud of you. He’d come in here every day with stories about you. His kind, clever, brave girl. You were the best thing to ever happen to him. To hear him say it, you could change the stars in the sky and pull in the tide at your command. And he would never, e _ ver,  _ want his best girl to spend her life apologising for daring to take up air,” Davos told her, his voice soft and earnest. 

Brienne looked at her shoes. “When I’m on stage, when I think of all the people watching, I just turn so stupid.”   
  


Sallador laughed. “Oh honey, that’s where we come in.”

Oberyn’s dark eyes twinkled. “Who better to come to than us when you’re learning to put on show?”

“Or learning not to give a fuck?” Jaime added.

Brynden stood in the centre of the room, his face set and eyes blue and sober. “We can see that you’re lost at sea,” he told Brienne somberly, “And I can tell you this. Not one of us in this room is going to let Selwyn Tarth’s little girl go adrift with only driftwood to keep her up. Not one.” 


	7. Chapter 7

The Queensguard were as good as their word. The bulk of Brienne’s holidays were spent in the club, learning everything she needed to know. They even drilled her in the art walking.

“You can know a man; or woman, from their stride,” Oberyn said as he sent Brienne back to the corner of the stage for the eighth time. “And when you’re onstage, there’s no half-assing it. Either you can eat the ground up with your legs and say ‘more please’, or you can nibble at the edge and apologise for the crumbs.”

“But last time you said my stride was too big,” Brienne said in confusion. 

Oberyn rolled his eyes. “It’s not about the length of your stride honey,” he sighed. “It’s about walking across that floor like you own it. Now, from the corner! And I want to see  _ hunger _ , girl.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” a near exhausted Brienne wailed beneath her breath, but she went back to the corner nonetheless.

Brynden worked with Brienne on the interview. Out of all of them, he was the one who knew her the best and knew best how to open her up.

“Don’t worry about being clever,” he advised her. “Don’t think about being sassy or sharp or showing off what a wit you are. What you are, is  _ sincere _ . Games like this, it’s all about standing out. And sincerity will be scarce on that stage. Be honest. Just talk like you’re chatting with a friend.”

“That’s easy with you,” Brienne pointed out. “But on the night, how can I forget I’m being judged? I’ll just have it stuck in my head that everyone is listening and I won’t be able to think of a word.”

“What you need, is to practise focusing on the question,” Brynden decided. “Jaime! Get over here.” He turned to Brienne. “There’s nothing so distracting as having Jaime Lannister buzzing around. The boy couldn’t be discrete if it were costing him his right hand.”

~

“Miss Tarth, what is the number one thing Westeros can do to combat Global Warming?”

“Cut down the Wall and spread it out across the realm. That’s too much ice for just one castle when the world is boiling. Bloody greedy!”

“Jaime!”

“Remember, we are just ignoring him. Come on, what do you think?”

“Um, invest more in renewable sources of energy?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling me?”

“You’re speaking like you don’t expect anyone to take on what you said because nothing that you say is worth hearing. You’re being too gentle, too polite.”

“ _ Too  _ polite?”

“You need to swagger on stage, snatch the microphone from Dany T’s pretty little hand and cry  _ listen up you shits!” _

“Moving on. Miss Tarth, do you believe that the traditional nuclear family unit is vital for a child’s upbringing?”

“Nah, what is necessary for a child’s upbringing is not to be raised by a soulless demon that sucks the joy from his children and poison their hearts with fear and despair. Such demons can be detected by gold flecked green eyes and whopping side-burns. To defeat them, take a dagger of Valyrian Steel, a Weirwood branch and a tincture of the High Septon’s piss after he has eaten a large Dornish Takeout”

“ _ No _ , it’s not vital. What a child needs is patience, to be raised in a unit that takes time to listen to the child and understand their specific needs, and teaches the child to do likewise.”

“ _ Good _ . Miss Tarth, what are your opinions on cancel culture?”

“Depends on what culture you want to cancel. Because if we’re talking North then I’m all on board. Bloody miserable twats.”

“A large part of cancel culture stems from individuals placing a priority on proving their own moral superi _ ority, violently condemning every act deemed problematic as irredeemable, at the expense of…” _

  
  
  


~

In between practise, Davos allowed her to revise at the bar, quizzing her on her study notes. 

“That pageant is all well and good,” he would say approvingly, “But education comes first, always.”

One time, when Drogo stole her away to measure her up for her wardrobe, Davos followed behind to hear her practise her Valyrian Oral exam, and recite the dates for the Second Targaryen Conquest and its contribution to the fall of Feudalism. 

Brienne suspected that this sensible, plainly dressed man had sensed Brienne’s unease with her body, and her reluctance for it to come under any sort of focus. He engaged her mind and took her far from the fitting room, so that it seemed barely a minute had passed when Drogo announced he had everything he needed. 

It was her singing that made Brienne really hope that not only could she get through the pageant with dignity, but with pride. Perhaps even distinction. Cat had grounded her well, helping Brienne’s sweet voice reach her full potential. Catelyn had taught Brienne how to breathe to reach the higher notes, and how to stand to open her diaphragm. Mance took it all a step further, giving her breathing tips for before she even got on stage, and when she stood before the audience, so she wouldn’t freeze up or lose her calm. 

And he talked to her about the song. Brienne decided to stick with  _ Jenny of Oldstones.  _ She knew it. Everyone liked it. She knew where she was with Jenny. She had pushed herself enough for the time being just entering the pageant. But Mance had her looking at it through new eyes. It wasn’t just a pretty tune about a pretty girl. He helped her understand the turmoil and political upheaval, the grief of the nation, all focused on just one simple country girl.

When she wasn’t rehearsing, the young Starks were dragging her off to partake in some Wintermas activity, skating and sledding and snow fights and Winter Markets and pantomimes.

The holiday season that had loomed long and empty, the first without her dad, saw Brienne’s days packed, and the few moments of silence she got were treasured for the rest and solitude. 

~

Jaime took charge of the dance rehearsals. Her greatest challenge. The Kryptonite to her Superman. The iron to her fairy princess. The Valyrian Steel to her Knight King. 

She thought too much, her worries and neuroses sucking the joy out of the dance. She thought it was a chore and it was clear, written plain on her face. She would clench her jaw and watch her feet as she stomped through the moves. It was plain to see from their first practise that Brienne was not a natural show-woman. 

What she was, was a swot. She was a grinder. 

She worked and worked, going over the steps again and again until they became flesh memory. Jaime was a drill sergeant when he wanted results, and neither of them accepted anything less than perfection. Brienne would stumble and fall behind the tune, and steely eyed would return to the opening position before Jaime could cry ‘from the top!’ Between the pair of them, the routine began to come to Brienne as easily as breathing.

“Don’t leave it all behind you in the dance studio,” Jaime advised, “Recite the moves as you walk down threet. Run over the sequence in your head. Trace the movements with your feet when you’re on the bus.”

Through constant, unrelenting practise, Brienne found that she could start to simply move with the music. As the opening bars began, her feet would move instinctively and some rhythm finally made its way into her body. 

The thrill that ran through her spine every time she completed the dance without a misstep only intensified with every success. That confirmation that all those times she hadn’t tripped or lost her place or fell out of time weren't just flukes, but she had succeeded in getting the dance fixed in her mind and in her body. 

The first time Brienne braved through the entire routine, Jaime’s face had lit up in a blinding grin, and as she went from strength to strength, his pleasure only grew. Just as he wouldn’t miss a fumbled move or shaky spin, he never forgot to tell her everything she got right. 

“I’ve finally found my career path,” he declared, “Pageant coach. Daddy will be so proud.”

That said, he still found room for improvement, and reasons to place his hands on her shoulders or the small of her back, positioning her hands just so, and tilting up her chin. 

“It’s those little touches that really gives a performance polish,” he said by way of explanation. 

Jaime, and as many of the other queens he could muster up, would come in and dance with her. Surrounded by their example, and no longer watching her feet but being swept up by the feeling of all of them dancing in time, she subconsciously began picking up their little tricks. The angle of their hips, the way they held their hands. A toss of the head, a saucy wink.

The girls at the official bi-weekly pageant rehearsals watched uncomprehendingly as Brienne transformed from a shambling fool who could barely keep from stumbling over her flippers, to a confident performer in possession of that rare and wonderful thing known as ‘pizzazz’. 

**~**

Wintermas morning and lunch hurt in a sweet, sharp way. You would have to have had a heart of stone to not take joy in the sight of the Stark youngsters nearly wet themselves as they waited to open their presents. 

Cat was taking her sweet time arranging the Starklings, bright eyed and messy haired in their Wintermas pyjamas, in front of the great stacks of presents for photographs. She had them standing up and sitting down, looking at the cameras, looking at the presents, hugging, spaced out, smiling, pulling faces, standing in order of age, order of height, just the girls, just the boys, she even nagged Brienne and Brynden into getting in on the action.

Finally, the photos were taken and the orgy of gift opening was just about to commence when Ned, at the very last minute, shot to his feet and announced he needed to make more hot chocolate. 

“Don’t start opening until I’m back!” he called. 

Brienne had to bite down on her lip to keep from cackling at the dismayed cries.

Catelyn caught Brienne’s eye, and whispered beneath the wails and whines “Adults deserve to have their fun on Wintermas too.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Hope you're enjoying this fic. Please let me know what you think. I love hearing from you all so much. :)

“They’re… they’re very showy,” was all Brienne could say.

Jaime raised an eyebrow, amusement tugging at his lips. “They are for a _show_ ,” he pointed out with maddening patience. “They need to have some oomph. A bit of that wow factor.”

Jaime and Brienne were in the dressing rooms, looking over her wardrobe for the pageant. Drogo had just managed to finish altering three old dresses from the costume closet, a day before the show. 

“Well, they certainly have that.” Brienne held up the interview dress. Out of the three, it was the least frightening. A one shoulder, pale blue silk, with a full skirt, ending in a tattered hem just above the knees at the front, then down to the floor at the back. To be paired with a thick black leather belt, and black converse. It was the type of summer dress you would expect to see on a girl like Brienne. Punkish, not too dainty. It was a good starter dress for the girl who lived in jumpers and jeans.

“Who wore this one?” she asked, admiring the slight lavender tint to the colour. 

“Drogo,” Jaime said. “I remember him wearing it for _Steel Rain._ He’s done a good job altering them.” Jaime inspected the dress, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “He’s even made space in the bodice, but I don’t know what he thinks you will fill them with.”

Brienne threw the dress at him, and turned to her talent gown. 

“Will I be able to sing ok in the corset?” she asked pragmatically. 

Someone had clearly decided her ‘signature colour’ was blue. The corset was a light blue that just bordered on turquoise. Flowers and leaves made from black lace crepts like ivy from the hips and shoulders. The skirt was blue silk and black tulle, and the sheer black sleeves were full, gathered at the wrists and slipping down her shoulders. 

“That was Mance’s dress,” Jaime assured her. “He sang out ok in it. We’ll give it a fit to make sure there’s no problem, but worst case scenario you just don’t pull the laces shut, and we make sure the lighting is dim and you don’t turn your back to the audience.”

Jaime saw her sceptical look, and placed an assuring hand on her shoulder. “You’re singing a song from the age of dragons and magic,” he told her. “You’re taking the audience back to a time where White Walkers roamed the Earth and a young girl’s love could bring down a kingdom. You can’t just walk out there in any old evening dress. 

Brienne examined the layers of tulle and silk that made up the full skirt. “You’re sure that I won’t look too big?” she asked.

“You _are_ big,” Jaime said. “And when you’re under that spotlight, you want to be the biggest and the best girl on that stage. You let the other babies fight for a corner while you stake your claim to the centre and stay there.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t try to cut yourself down, that’s just wasting all that wonderful you.”

Brienne caught sight of them in the mirror, those wicked eyes looking so soft. Jaime gave her shoulder a squeeze and nodded to the screen in the corner of the room. “Go try your talent dress on,” he instructed. 

Brienne picked up the rustling material, carrying it with an almost reverential awe behind the screen. She kicked off her trainers and peeled off her jeans and shirt and then, with a red hot awareness that Jaime was just half a metre away, tugged off her bra. 

Jaime had been messing around with a makeup box, when Brienne came shuffling out from behind the screen, carrying her train with one hand and holding up the bodice with the other.

“Can you lace me up?” she asked, turning around.

Jaime blinked at the sight of the unlaced gown gaping open, baring her white, freckled skin for all to see.

“Arms not long enough?” he jibed, taking his place beside her. 

“I’m not an octopus,” Brienne grumbled. “I know there’s not _much_ in it between us length wise but I’ve got some pesky bones keeping me from bending far-”

She started as Jaime’s hands came into contact with her skin.

“You alright?” Jaime asked quietly.

Brienne nodded her head numbly. “Hands are cold,” she said in a strangled voice. 

“Now hold still,” Jaime instructed, “And tell me if it gets uncomfortable.”

The corset was lined to keep her from chafing, and was soft and gentle as it closed around her torso, embracing her in its satin confines. She could feel Jaime’s hot breath brushing against her neck as he methodically tugged and tied with a firm and steady hand.

Brienne fixed her eyes on the wall, shifting uncertainty.

“Stop it,” Jaime told her. “This is fiddly stuff.”

The reflection of his face was focused in the mirror, peeking out from over her bare shoulder. His eyebrows were drawn together, his forehead creased in concentration. 

“Jaime?” she began quietly.

“Hmm?” Jaime replied, eyes fixed on the laces.

“For the evening wear round, we need someone to escort us onto the stage.” Brienne’s mouth suddenly went very dry. “And I know I should have asked earlier, but, you will be backstage anyway to help with my makeup.” She swallowed. _‘Drop your shoulders. Look him in the eye. You’re talking to a friend’._

“Will you be my escort? It could be fun.” Brienne kept her face measured and cool in those excruciating seconds before Jaime gave his answer. 

She wasn’t panicking or freaking out. She wasn’t quaking in fear he would say no. She wasn’t getting her hopes up or pushing them down. She was a boundless, tranquil lake at moonlight.

Jaime tied off the corset and leaned nonchalantly against the vanity, inspecting his nails, just the smallest smile playing at his lips. “Sure, why not? Flats or heels?” 

~

“Oh Brienne! You’re my vanity neighbour,” Margaery exclaimed pointing to the ‘number fifteen’ at her breast. She beamed up at Brienne, looping her arm through the crook of Brienne’s elbow. “How lovely.”

Brienne smiled weakly and allowed Margaery to tug her away to their assigned seats. Margaery dumped her makeup bag before the mirror in careless grace, reclining in her seat and taking both of Brienne’s hands in her own. “So, the day’s finally here. Are you nervous?”

Brienne didn’t think it appropriate to tell this lovely, gracious young lady that she had been up all last night running back and forth to the bathroom with a dodgy tummy. Cat, in her motherly wisdom, had guessed Brienne would not be able to face eating breakfast at the kitchen table with everyone wishing her good luck and Sansa sighing over how she couldn’t wait to be eighteen and Arya screwing up her nose and declaring she will _never_ do a pageant and the boys asking if Brienne was going to start setting stuff on fire too, and had kindly brought her a plate of buttered toast and poached eggs in bed to help her face the day.

Brienne laughed uneasily. “Oh, well, you know. If I can get through this without falling or farting, I’ll consider it a win.”

_‘Did you just say “Fart” in front of Margaery Tyrell? That’s like swearing in front of the Maiden!’_

Thankfully, Margaery just giggled. “I’m exactly the same,” she said, despite probably never having farted once in her life. “What are your plans for makeup? We’re not allowed to hire professional help on the day, but my mother arranged for Satin Flowers to pop in as a favour. I’m sure he could squeeze you in as well.” Margaery tilted her head to one side. “You have such gorgeous eyes, I have never seen such a deep blue.”

Margaery had perfected the art of whispering loud enough for all to hear. She seemed sincere in her offer, and she had never been anything less than charming to Brienne. Brienne reasoned that Margaery was just as likely to make such a kind offer in secret, but simply had too many wits not to realise the benefit of being kind in public. 

“That’s really generous of you,” Brienne said politely. “But my friend, Jaime, he’s escorting me and he’s actually pretty good at makeup.”

Margaery raised a perfectly lined eyebrow. “Jaime? You don’t mean Jaime Lannister?”

Brienne nodded, smiling bashfully. “Yep. That’s the one.”

“Oh! He’s gorgeous,” Margaery sighed. “Oh lucky you. Rickon Tarly is escorting me, and he’s lovely. But Jaime Lannister, well everyone knows he’s in another league entirely. Especially now he’s let his hair grow out. How did he come to know anything about makeup?”

“Well, he sometimes sings at that club he works at. So he knows some stuff about stage makeup.”

Margaery sighed again. “ _And_ he’s good at makeup. I bet he can braid hair too. Oh you lucky, lucky girl.”

Brienne shook her head violently, her faint blush darkening to crimson. “Oh no,” she said quickly. “It’s nothing like that, we’re just, you know, we’ve been hanging around together over the holidays.” 

Margaery was having none of it. “He is simply divine,” she declared.

“Miss Tarth!” Lysa Arryn called, appearing like a wraith before the girls. “Miss Lannister wishes to see you. She is in dressing room twelve.”

“His twin on the other hand,” Margaery muttered cuttingly as Brienne grabbed her jacket with as much enthusiasm as a White Walker heading to a sauna. She needed luck, on this of all days. Being called into Cersei Lannister’s dressing room was like waking up to find a severed aurochs head on your pillow.

“Good luck!” Margaery called sympathetically. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brienne Interview dress  
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/184941793390/alexander-mcqueen-pre-fall-2019-collection  
> Brienne Talent Dress  
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/622796785727012864/royal-black-winter-solstice-corset-couture-gown


	9. Chapter 9

“Brienne here for you, Cersei dear,” Lysa Arryn gushed in a sickly voice, standing in the doorway. “Do you need anything else, or might I  _ possibly _ begin getting ready myself.” 

From the tone of Mrs Arryn’s voice, Brienne hazarded that she did not particularly care for being used as Cersei’s messenger girl.   
  


Contestants were only allowed to have friends and family to help out and were forbidden to hire professionals for their hair and makeup, but no such rules applied for Cersei. Makeup artists and stylists and manicurists were setting up their equipment, buzzing around her like she was the queen bee of the hive. The dresser was piled high with beauty products, with just a little space cleared for a pile of ivory envelopes, holding all the questions for the interview round.

Cersei wore an ivory silk wrap, the ballgown rumoured to cost eight thousand gold dragon was hidden away in one of two garment bags. The second held the hoop for her skirt. Clearly, Cersei Lannister was going all out to ensure she was not outshone by a certain fire eater. 

And yet, she still had the time to kindly meet with a lowly contestant in private. 

“Leave us,” Cersei said briskly, and a put out Lysa led the beauticians from the room.

The thick, heavy door slammed shut behind them, and Brienne was left alone.

“Well,” Cersei said, “Did you manage to find a dress that will fit?” She didn’t even do Brienne the courtesy of turning around to face her, instead watching her reflection in the mirror as she held up a pair of topaz earrings, inspecting the colour against her skin.

“I did,” Brienne confirmed coolly.

Cersei bared her white teeth in bitter amusement. “Quite intuitive of you to go running to a drag show,” she drawled, “But of course, where else were you to find a dress your size? Or a group full of people even more freakish than you.”

Brienne felt her skin turn to ice, and all she wanted to do was grab Cersei by her lovely white shoulders and dig in her fingers until she drew blood, then shake her until every one of those straight pearly teeth rattled and fell from her gums.

“There is no need to be spiteful,” Brienne said coolly. "If this is about how they do a better smokey eye than you, I'm sure you could just ask them for help."

_ Or I could give you a black one. _

Cersei’s beautiful face was still, before she let out a frigid bark of laughter. “Oh, you  _ have _ been spending time with my brother. He always thought himself so clever too. They both do, Jaime and the little Imp. Now one of them is a depraved, lecherous dwarf who is wasting his university education chasing skirt, and the other delights in shaming the family by prancing about like a perverted little deviant.” 

Brienne buried her nails into the palm of her hand. Cersei fell silent as Brienne walked towards her, with a steady, measured stride.

“Don’t you dare speak about your brother like that again,” Brienne said quietly. “If your family had any sense, they would feel pride in what a kind, good person he is.”

Cersei’s lips grew thin with disgust. “Kind? Our father gave him e _ verything.  _ Time, love, attention. He was the only thing in the world that mattered to father and Jaime just threw it back in his face like it was worthless. Now it has been left to me to safeguard the family honour.”

“And I wish you good luck with that,” Brienne said stiffly. “But I’m afraid your family honour is of no concern to me.”

“Oh, but I’m afraid it is,” Cersei said, producing a phone from her handbag. “It is bad enough that my degraded brother is strutting around Brynden Tully’s twisted little club, but now I hear he intends to escort you on stage. No doubt in some wretched, tawdry get up. Do you deny it?”

“I have no wish to deny it,” Brienne said calmly. She had seen Jaime’s plans for his outfit. It wasn’t exactly full drag, but it was nothing Tywin Lannister would ever deem appropriate for his eldest son to wear on national television. Not the man with the soul of iron and beige. “Jaime intends to outshine everyone on stage, and we’re both looking forward to it.”

“Well, you will have to disappoint him,” Cersei said triumphantly, holding her phone aloft. 

“You want me to tell Jaime not to escort me?” 

“Oh no my dear,” Cersei said with a tinkling laugh. “I expect you to pull out of this pageant altogether.” She tapped the screen of her phone. “Thanks to our beloved Ms Targaryen, there will be cameras broadcasting our little pageant across Westeros to Essos. And when they see you, viewers will wonder who that hideous girl is, shambling about and pretending to be a beauty queen. They will start googling your name, and when they do, they will see this.” Cersei thrust the phone under Brienne’s nose.

It was a video of the Wintermas Party at the Country Club. Brienne could hear the laughter; her friend Hyle and Ron and Mark and Ben and Owen braying like cattle, and the farmyard noises and Cat and the pianist arguing over what had happened. And there on stage, Brienne could see herself. Frozen and stiff and looking…

A bit sad? A bit hurt and rather lost? As would be expected, after such a nasty prank. The laughter of those hideous boys rattled around the room like gunfire. Brienne would have been forgiven for just curling on the floor and crying. Instead, she just stayed rooted to the spot, before walking off with surprising dignity. Sure, her nose was broken and her teeth were crooked, but where was the shame in that? 

“You expect me to be intimidated by this?” Brienne said cynically. “A two minute video of me standing on stage and walking off? Please, Cersei. I’m almost disappointed.”

Cersei’s triumphant smile slid off her beautiful face, which twisted into an ugly sneer. “You are really going to go out there and make yourself into a giant laughing stock?”

“I’ve spent my life as a giant laughing stock,” Brienne said with a shrug. “I might as well go big and make it international.” She smiled politely. “Will that be all, Miss Lannister?”

“Get out,” Cersei snarled, turning pointedly back in her seat.

Brienne would have ran to the door and been grateful, but instead she walked slow and straight-backed, turning her back to the bristling alley cat hissing at her mirror.

As she left the dressing room and passed down the corridor, feeling began to return to her hands. As the cool numbness began to leave her, Brienne expected to find fear or doubt of distress. What she felt instead, was a light buzzing in her ears. A shaky laughter began to escape from her mouth, and by the time she had returned to her dressing table to see Jaime chatting with Margaery, she was in full on hysterics.

Jaime caught sight of her laughing, and nodded. “Yeah, that’s how most people get after chatting to Cersei, either weeping, or in hysterics.” He put a steadying hand on Brienne’s shoulder and sat her down at the vanity, as Margaery helpfully produced a handkerchief for Brienne to dry her watering eyes with. “Any longer,” Jaime said, “We would have sent in a search party.”

“How are you feeling?” Margaery asked sympathetically.

“Smashing,” Brienne declared. “Wonderful. Utterly marvellous.”

Margaery and Jaime exchanged sceptical looks. Cersei must have inflicted great trauma on the girl to elicit such a response. No one left a conversation with Cersei claiming to be  _ happy  _ without there being a severe break in their sanity.

“Well,” Jaime said, sitting down before Brienne and examining her face, “At least she left me something to work with, instead of devouring your flesh and leaving me only with your chewed up bones.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would have made it work,” Brienne said airily. “You learned from the best after all.”

“Ooh, let me watch!” Margaery pleaded eagerly. “Brienne has been telling me all about her man who’s the dab hand at makeup. I was saying before she left, how jealous I am and how lucky she is to have a fellow who knows his way around lipstick.”

Jaime didn’t bother to deny that he was ‘Brienne’s fellow’. Instead, he bowed his head graciously, before clicking open his large, black leather makeup box. “Pucker up then Brienne, let’s give the lovely Miss Tyrell something to be  _ really  _ jealous about.” 


	10. Chapter 10

Jaime had focussed most of his ‘artistic genius’ on her eyes, otherwise he just used foundation and powder to make sure her face didn’t look shiny under the lights, and added some definition to her features.

“We’ll need to touch up after the dance,” he told her. “And we’ll do something special for the song.”

“As long as it is not too special,” Brienne said doubtfully.

“I can’t wait to hear you sing,” Margaery said brightly, as Lannisport’s most sought after makeup artist finished applying a neutral shade of lipstick.

The costume was a simple knee length red dress, with a black lace petticoat and short sleeves. Jaime grimaced as he passed it over to Brienne. 

“Red ain’t your colour, but thanks to Drogo it should fit like a beauty. And your legs look great in those black boots.”

Brienne had barely been in her costume five seconds before the call ran out to get into the wings. 

“Oh Seven Hells,” Brienne said, shrinking back into her seat, turning pale beneath her makeup.

Margaery gave an excited squeal, throwing aside her practised composure to indulge herself in a few seconds of girlish glee.

“Come on!” She jumped to her feet and grabbed Brienne’s hands, squeezing them.

Brienne could feel her blood turn to icy slush, and she could not recall swallowing a nest of worms, but how else was she to explain the squirming in her stomach. She jerked to her feet. She couldn’t remember how to move, let alone dance. How did legs work again?

Jaime put a hand on Brienne’s shoulder. “Take a breath,” he instructed. “That dance takes about four minutes. You’ll be on, then you’ll be off again before you know it.”

He kissed Brienne’s cheek, sending warmth flooding back through her body in a golden rush.

He stepped back and gave Brienne’s shoulder a friendly shove. “Now get out there before you miss your cue.”

Bevies of squealing, giggling girls were ushered to the wings, Genna and Lysa standing with clipboards at the left and right wing, making sure the girls were entering from the correct side. 

“Line up in your numbers,” Genna ordered in a stern whisper. 

“Am I on the right side? I thought I was on the left.”

“You  _ are _ on the left, Megga.”

“Get back behind me Tyene, I’m in front of you.”

“Girls! Silence now,” Lysa hissed in a voice that nearly carried over the overture music. “The audience is out there, hearing every word.” 

The audience, a theatre seating two thousand. And pointed on the stage, cameras broadcasting the entire show to an international audience of millions. 

Dizzied by the prospect, Brienne did not have the chance to truly mull over the potential for world wide humiliation, before the music switched into the jazzed up  _ Six Maids in the Pool.  _

The girls lined up before her began marching on the stage, hands on hips and smiles on lips, to merry applause.

Brienne felt a sharp prod in the back as Number Seventeen hissed at her to  _ “go”.  _ She was swept away with the tide of beauty queens marching onstage. Her feet and her hands had heard the music before she did, and were already moving in time to the music as she went to face down the floodlights.

#

For a dance that Brienne had sweated and fretted over, it was done in minutes. She sailed through it, blinded from the audience and lights glaring down on her. When the final note was hit and the girls struck their final pose, it was only the cacophony of applause that dragged Brienne back down to earth and she realised that she; Brienne of the bungling feet, had danced before thousands. Not only that, but she was now on stage, in a  _ beauty contest  _ of all things.

Red faced and panting, she couldn’t help let loose a tiny, hysterical giggle. 

She had actually done it. Her bizarre, barely formed scheme to prove a point when she wasn’t even completely sure what that point was, just that she had to prove it, had actually ended her up here, on this stage. And the world hadn’t ended. The White Walkers hadn’t awakened. No Great God of Pageant Gatekeeping had arisen and set the theatre ablaze for Brienne’s blasphemy. And Brienne hadn’t fallen over either.

Even if Brienne had missed a turn or crossed with her leg in front instead of behind, no one would have noticed. Not when Daenerys Targaeryn came cartwheeling on in the final beats, flaming daggers in both hands. 

Thank the Seven for Pyromaniac show-offs. 

~

As well as being the ‘Star Judge’, Daenerys was conducting the interviews. The tv station clearly wanted to squeeze as much air time out of her as possible. Not even Cersei was going to risk losing the chance to air their little local pageant by refusing to let Daenerys steal the spotlight from her.

Instead, she would simply have to take what chance that came her way to take it back. 

In order to give Daenerys and the contestants time to change and freshen up after the dance, the opening number was followed by Cersei graciously welcoming the audience, and giving a speech about the proud history of the Miss Casterly Rock Pageant.

Cersei looked a true Westerlands lady. Ever so refined and elegant in a tasteful ball gown, with a black one shouldered bodice and red silk skirt printed with large flowers, lips red and hair straightened into a golden curtain hanging down her back. One lily white hand gently resting over her heart, Cersei poured out a heartfelt speech about the jewel of Casterly Rock that was its beloved beauty pageant. How young girls grow up aspiring to one day claim the revered crown, how Miss Casterly is an  _ inspiration _ for young women everywhere. It was a rerun of her speech on the first day of rehearsal, except this time with the odd delicate tear streaming down her chin. 

“She almost sounds human,” Jaime muttered darkly as they watched the tiny screen set up backstage. “Did you know she’s been able to cry on command since she was eight?”

“Well, the audience is loving it,” Brienne pointed out, watching Cersei graciously bow her in head in response to the tumultuous applause.

Outside of being semi-popular with tourists over the summer, Casterly Rock was a tiny town built from an old mining village, and had long been dwarfed in significance by its neighbour, Lannisport. For once, the small, insignificant town was the centre of the Seven Kingdoms, and its people were in the mood to be moved with some treacle and shmalp.

“Well, nothing like a giant heap of town pride covered in sugar to tug at the heartstrings,” Jaime conceded. Standing behind Brienne, he ran his fingers through her freshly brushed hair, smoothing it down one final time. His phone buzzed and he smirked at the response. “Not everyone is enamoured though. Oberyn just informed me that if he didn’t want to get kicked out before he could see you, he would have ran onstage and dragged Cersei off by the ear just to get her to shut up.”

“Harsh,” Brienne said, standing up and gathering her interview dress.

Jaime shrugged. “His sister Elia was a couple of years above us. Cersei was jealous she was dating Rhaegar Targaryen and started a hate campaign against her. Got her friends to send her abusive texts, convinced Robert Baratheon to spray paint  _ Elia is a slut  _ on the wall of the west quad, even spread a rumour she was pregnant. Oberyn has hated her ever since.” Jaime narrowed his lips. 

“It took him a while to warm to me as well. I saw it all happen and did nothing. And I was probably the one person back then who might have been able to make her stop.” Jaime shrugged. “Or Cersei would have been jealous that I was showing concern for someone who wasn’t her and doubled down. You never can tell which way the wind will blow with Cersei. But usually the direction that will cause the most storm damage.”

“Don’t I know it,” Brienne said with a grimace. “She tried to blackmail me into backing out by posting a video of the Wintermas Party.”

Jaime blinked. “So that’s why she summoned you to her lair. And you’re still going through with it.”

Brienne tilted her chin up. “Why shouldn’t I? I did nothing wrong. Let those stupid boys have their dirty trick plastered all over the internet for the world to see. Any shame lies with them.”

Jaime looked proud, but a shadow of wariness lurked behind in his eyes “Just tread carefully around my sister,” he warned. “This pageant, keeping up standards, it means more to her than you can know. My dad, he’s always been traditional and he’s drummed it into Cersei’s head that there is one way of being of worth, that she’s got to be this perfect lady to mean anything. And her beauty, that was the biggest part of it. Winning Miss Casterly was like she was finally the woman she was meant to be. For you to come in and take your place when you’re nothing like what Father taught her to be, I think she must feel you tainted her victory. She’s vicious at the best of times. When she’s thwarted, she turns as violent as a rabid dog and twice as poisonous.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cersei Dress  
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/160479652660/romona-kevasa-springsummer-2017-collection


	11. Chapter 11

Margaery sat beside the most famous girl in Westeros, lecturing her about the social care system without a trace of nerves. They made a pretty pair, both delicate and feminine, with exquisite faces and petite bodies. Margaery wore a long floral summer gown, that started at the top a warm dark teal but grew lighter near the hem, which was printed with plants and flowers and songbirds. She looked like a warm, summer’s night, and her voice was just as soothing.

Daenerys was dressed for the night in a sparkling black ball gown with a bolero made of raven feathers. The black contrasted beautifully with her platinum hair, and the sequins danced with the sparkle in her purple eyes. She listened pleasantly as Margaery spoke of ‘empowering the young and seeking to avoid alienating the disenfranchised, providing a strong foundation of guidance and trust for the young to flourish into their best selves, and to help them lead a life of enterprise and experience.’

“It sounds like she swallowed a thesaurus,” Jaime murmured wryly. Brienne clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. The pair were huddled in the left wing, waiting for Brienne’s turn. She dug her elbow into Jaime’s ribs, a sharp signal to tell him to shut up, even as she thanked the Seven she had his smart comments to keep her mind off her upcoming trial.

Margaery rounded off her answer, and she left the stage to resounding applause, gliding off like a swan with a wave and a kiss. Daenerys smiled as she watched her leave, but was that a trace of scepticism in her eyes? Perhaps the Blackfish was right and sincere was the way to go.

“Well done,” Brienne whispered as Margaery passed her. Margaery gave Brienne a quick peck on the cheek.

“Now,” Daenerys announced, picking up the next unopened envelope, “We have Miss Brienne Tarth!”

“Once more unto the breach,” Brienne muttered under her breath, before strolling across the stage. She really was grateful how bright the lights were. The front row of the audience was just a blur of shapes and and beyond that, the audience was lost entirely to the darkness.

It made it easier to pretend it was just her and this other girl, having a chat, Jaime hanging around to join up with her in just one moment.

Seeing how Brienne had to fight not to clench her hands in her skirt, Daenerys smiled encouragingly as Brienne sat down opposite her. Up close, Brienne was struck by how young Daenerys was. Beneath the mascara and the makeup, Daenerys was just another girl, who barely a year ago was in the very same spot that Brienne was in now. No fame, no devoted fanbase. Just a young girl trying to win a sash and tiara.

Daenerys opened the envelope, and blithely read out “Brienne, how would your father-”

Then she trailed off, pretty purple eyes widening in doubt. She looked up at Brienne in shock, before peering back round at the wings, as though looking for a cue. Slight murmurs began to fill the audience. Of course, everyone knew each other in this town. Soft whispers of “Was she going to say ‘father’?” “Isn’t that the Tarth girl? Why would they give her a question about her father?”

Daenerys looked terrified in her seat, lost for what to do. Brienne felt cool as she watched the young superstar begin to panic. Whatever Cersei had done to punish Brienne, she was also using to get her vengeance on the upstart little bitch who had stolen her thunder. In one fell swoop, she would humiliate Brienne, and pollute Daenerys’s reputation.

Speak to her as though she is a friend.

“May I?” Brienne asked politely.

Relieved that Brienne seemed to have some control over the situation, Daenerys apologetically offered up the envelope.

“I don’t know how this got here,” Daenerys whispered as she covered her microphone, cameras and audience be damned. “But we will get to the bottom of this.”

Brienne smiled reassuringly, her face set and still as she read the question assigned to her.

“How would your father feel to see his giant lumbering oath of a daughter make a fool of herself on-stage?”

Brienne had to laugh a little. ‘Oath’ instead of ‘oaf’. Cersei must have written it out in a rush. Clearly, she was expecting the video of the Wintermas Party to be the trump card. She hadn’t been planning on needing a plan B.

“I don’t think you will have to put too much effort in finding that out,” Brienne whispered back. “It’s probably the same person who told me I couldn’t sign up because there wouldn’t be a costume in my size.”

Daenerys’s jaw dropped slightly, but this time she recovered herself and brought her microphone back to her lips.

“So Brienne,” she said, slipping flawlessly back into her stage voice. Light and airy and just so happy to be there. “What advice would you give to yourself a year ago?”

Brienne thanked the Seven that Daenerys had recovered and ploughed on with a question of her own. Cersei’s devious little scheme had barely caused a two minute halt in the proceedings. Perhaps just a little more shaken than she gave on, Brienne began searching her head for sufficient platitudes. Something about taking risks might sound good, or practising self care and being mindful. Something you might see on an instagram page.

Be sincere.

“I would tell myself not to be afraid to ask for help,” Brienne said calmly. “I’ve always struggled asking for people to help me out. I never thought much of myself and I thought the best thing about me was that I didn’t cause too much trouble. And I’ve always been large and I’ve always been strong and I didn’t think I could let myself be soft the way other girls were allowed to be.  
But these last few weeks especially, I’ve found that I had more friends than I had given credit for. And that actually, most people are alright at the end of the day, and most of them will want to do what they can if you come to them with a problem. And if given the chance to help somebody out, we will take it. So I would tell myself to ask for help, and give someone that chance.”

The applause was good. Brienne didn’t glide out like Margaery did, but she waved at the audience like it was an old friend she had spotted while striding down the other side of the street.

Jaime was waiting in the wings, stepping aside to give room to number seventeen. He was clapping politely with the rest, but she caught an inquisitorial look in his eyes.

“What happened there?” he asked as they ducked back into the changing rooms.

Brienne resolved to tell him in full later, for now she needed him to keep his game face on.

“I discovered your sister clearly needs to get better at proofreading, that’s what happened,” Brienne replied angelically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Margaery Interview Gown  
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/171269420450/dennis-basso-pre-fall-2016-collection
> 
> Daenerys Evening dress  
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/181798305355/favourite-designs-lazaro-spring-2019-bridal
> 
> Brienne Interview dress  
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/184941793390/alexander-mcqueen-pre-fall-2019-collection


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cover of the song Brienne sings. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w4cqcinpbvw

Alright, the makeup was special, but it wasn’t too special, just as Jaime promised. The smudged dark makeup around Brienne’s eyes made them look larger and bluer than ever against her pale face. Her lips were painted white, tinged slightly with blue, and blended in with the foundation. On her cheeks was the faintest shimmer of silver. 

Jaime had brushed out her hair so that it fell loose and natural down her shoulders, putting in only a simple braid to gather it off her face. And once her dress was on, she looked almost delicate. Gentle. Tragic, but with a fierce and ethereal power.

“I look like a goth fairy princess,” she declared as she surveyed herself in the mirror. An incredulous breath of laughter escaped from her lips. “I never knew I could look like that.”

A tight fist clenched around Brienne’s heart. Her dad would never know she could look like that either. He would never get to see her stand on a stage and sing for thousands. This was just going to be another one of many moments he would never share with his daughter. 

The initial grief had faded and Brienne no longer lived in a hungry, empty black pit. But these moments of being stabbed in the gut was something she was going to just have to reconcile herself to for the rest of her life. 

He wouldn’t be there to cheer for her in moments of triumph, or sing for her when she was feeling low.

From now on, Brienne would have to sing  _ Last of the Giants  _ for herself. 

Jaime saw she was looking pensive and thought the nerves were getting a hold of her again. He held out his phone and said in a laughing voice “Oberyn is attending in his best evening wear. He and Ellaria ended up sitting next to Miss Mordane. He’s been chatting to her all evening. He says she’s been practically clutching at her Star of the Seven necklace ever since she saw him in his black lace and heels.”

Brienne smiled weakly, smoothing down her tulle skirt. She looked over her shoulder where the first batch of girls were hovering near the wings, waiting for their turn. 

Number eight, Meredyth Crane, came bursting through from her jazzy tap number, dressed in a tight waistcoat and sequined black shorts, and beaming under her bouncy ringlets and swanky bowler hat, to an ambush of hugs and high fives. 

“Jaime? I’m just going to check in with your aunt about something,” she said softly. “Won’t be a second.” 

~

Backstage, it didn’t seem to matter so much that she hadn’t rehearsed. So what if her lack of polish meant she was knocked down a few points? She had never been in this for the crown. But now, standing in the dark, in front thousands of waiting people, waiting for  _ her _ , she saw Mrs Lannister-Frey had been fair when she pointed out to Brienne that the music for  _ Jenny  _ was all set up. 

She had started feeling doubt creep in whilst she was watching Margaery dance, strong and vibrant in sequined turquoise bodice and shorts, with a large satin skirt that opened at the front. She stomped her boots and swished her skirt like a bull fighter to hot, pouding Dornish music, and left the stage beaming to jubilant applause.

Now, the auditorium was so silent. Just shuffling feet and quiet coughs. There would be no opening notes to cue her in, no music to carry her through.

If Brienne was going to do this, she would be doing it alone.

"Oh, I am the last of the giants, my people are gone from the earth.

The last of the great mountain giants,

who ruled all the world at my birth.”

Brienne swallowed. Her mouth was so dry.

_ Sing out Brienne. You’re a big girl with a big voice. Let them hear it. _

She took another breath and shut her eyes.

_ “Oh the smallfolk have stolen my forests, _

_ they’ve stolen my rivers and hills. _

_ And they’ve built a great wall through my valleys, _

_ and fished all the fish from my rills.” _

Her voice was leaving the theatre, flying out of the window and across the streets, guided like a beacon was it calling her to the mountains and crags of Casterly Point. The silence was gone and  _ there _ , the wind, biting at her cheeks, and  _ there _ , the thunder of the waves crashing against the rocks. All were singing with her. Loud and brutal and angry.

_ “In stone halls they burn their great fires, _

_ in stone halls they forge their sharp spears. _

_ Whilst I walk alone in the mountains, _

_ with no true companion but tears. _

_ They hunt me with dogs in the daylight, _

_ They hunt me with torches by night. _

_ For these men who are small can never stand tall, _

_ whilst giants still walk in the light.” _

The rocks were rumbling and the waves were surging, crashing together and thrusting her upwards. Past the peaks and the clouds and through into the heavens where  _ he  _ was singing with her, always.

_ “Oh, I am the  _ last _ of the giants, _

_ so learn well the words of my song. _

_ For when I am gone the singing will fade, _

_ and the silence shall last long and long.” _

  
  


And there, the world shrunk back into the theatre, back into the windows and retreating on a black, empty stage, back into her lungs, And Brienne was standing once more before thousands of people and the people were standing with her.

“ _ Oh _ , I am the last of the giants, my people are gone from the earth. The last of the great mountain giants.” Brienne took a shaky breath, the last handful of words coming quietly now, a final whisper as her voice made a final landing. 

Soft as a falling feather. Barely to be heard above the din roaring through the auditorium. “Who ruled all the world at my birth…”

Brienne blinked. She was suddenly so hot under the lights, and she had not prepared for this much noise. Once again she was standing on a stage, confused and lost and wondering how best to respond to the sounds raging around her. 

She gave a shaky bow, and walked unsteadily off the stage. Eyes still watering from the light, she was grateful when Jaime’s steady hand took her elbow and led her away from the wings, clearing the space for number seventeen and her balloon animals to take to the stage.

Instead of heading back to their dressing table, Jaime guided her to a secluded corner, behind a large, potted fern. Without speaking, he wrapped his arms around her broad shoulders and she rested her head on his shoulder, just as the sobs began to break loose.

“Sorry,” she choked. “Being silly.”

“It’s been an indoor waterfall back here,” Jaime assured her. “About half the girls have had a little wobble at some point. Lipstick going missing, good luck cards sent from mothers. I scouted out this place for this very purpose.” He placed his hands on her shoulders as Brienne took some deep, calming breaths.

“One more round left,” Jaime said encouragingly. “And that’s just walking and smiling.”

“And showing a lot of leg,” Brienne said dubiously.

“I checked the formal wear guidelines, you’re good as long you don’t show anything higher than your mid thigh.”

The evening wear round was the simplest, but the dress itself was going to be Brienne’s hardest sell. It wasn’t punkish like her interview dress, or a costume like her gown for talent. She was going to have to go out there, ladylike and glamorous and  _ entirely _ as herself. 

Jaime punched Brienne’s shoulder. “ _ Stop  _ fretting,” he told her firmly. “You’re going to knock them dead.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “And you can be sure of making a splash. You have seen  _ my  _ costume, haven’t you?”

~

From the chest up, Jaime looked like a very traditional and respectable escort. He wore makeup, but just so that his chiselled and debonair features lost no definition beneath the lights, with the tiniest touch of red for his lips and mascara for his eyes. He did not wear a tuxedo. Instead, he had selected a high necked black velvet jacket, with silvery gold embroidery running up from the hem across his centre. It was at the waist that things started to veer into the unconventional. Narrow at the waist and flaring out at the hips. Brienne herself had helped Jaime lace up the cincher underneath. 

_ (And wasn’t that quite an experience. Face to face with his bronzed muscle back, squeezing him tighter and tighter as his breath steadily grew quick and shallow.) _

Hips down was where Jaime completely threw the rule book out of the window. His black silk trousers clung to his leg, tucked into his ankle boots with the high heels and silver buckles, that put him just under Brienne’s height in her sparkly silver sandals. Flaring from his hips was an open-front skirt of billowing black silk.

The other girls were gathered around Jaime, demanding to know where he found his jacket and casting sighs and despairing looks at their own escorts in their rented tuxes and their dads’ best dress shoes.

Whereas Jaime was austerely handsome in severe black velvet, the body of Brienne’s gown was a shimmering pale blue lame, draped over a tight purplish blue bodice, over her shoulder and down her back, falling down to the floor and trailing along the ground. Falling from her hip were pleats of varying shades of purple and pink. It had once belonged to Jaime, and he had assured her sincerely that she almost looked as good in it as he did.

Arm in arm the contestants and their escorts lined up in the wings. The beauty queens, butterflies in coloured silk and taffeta and tulle, flapped their manicured hands in front of their eyes and exchanged breathless laughs and watery smiles. Already, they were taking their places for a final time on the stage. Their routines and their dances and their interviews were done and dusted, now all that was left was to emerge from the shadows, radiant in their gowns, and enjoy their time in the spotlight. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Genna declared, prettily plump and pink in a gown of dove grey lace. “Tonight we have been delighted with the grace, talent, charm and elegance of the daughters of Casterly Rock. For years, the girls of our humble town have been setting the standard for the accomplished young lady. So, while our judges put together their final schools, I ask you to show your appreciation for the contestants of the 90th Annual Miss Casterly Rock Pageant, 2020!”

“Where’s Cersei?” Brienne whispered into Margaery’s ear under the din. “I thought she was presenting the evening gown round.”

“Miss Meredyth Crane, escorted by Mr Horos Redwyne.”

In a floaty yellow chiffon, Merry bobbed on her toes with a squeal, and bounced onstage with an incandescent smile.

“Oh, it all went down when you and Jaime were snuggled up together behind that fern,” Margaery said blithely. “Daenerys Targaryen pitched a fit and she refused to put another foot on that stage unless Cersei was gone. Well, the producers and the pageant board closed ranks and Cersei was escorted from the building.”

Brienne blinked. Well, Daenerys was certainly a woman of her word. No wonder Genna looked so happy on that stage. Even Lysa Arryn, chivying the girls backstage in a fitted hot pink mermaid gown, seemed to be smiling. Her face was stretching at any rate.

“Miss Margaery Tyrell, escorted by Mr Dickon Tarly.” Genna trilled.

Margaery floated onto the stage in a large emerald green ball gown, studded with gold and rhinestone lily flowers. She spun for the audience, the large tulle skirt swishing charmingly. She even curtseyed, the gown billowing around her like a lily pad. She rose with more grace than any girl in heels had the right to possess. 

The Miss Casterly Rock Tiara was going to look enchanting on those glossy brown curls. 

“This bit is just for fun,” Jaime whispered into Brienne’s ear. “Enjoy it. It’s your last chance.”

“Miss Brienne Tarth, escorted by Mr Jaime Lannister.”

_ Well, she had come this far.  _

The time, Brienne could make out the wild hoots and cheers amongst the more restrained clapping. She looked round, straining her ears to make out where the ear shattering hallooing was coming from, and did her best to smile in the direction of her Drag Mothers and surrogate family.

Jaime, striding across the stage in all his splendour, saw Brienne safely to the spotlight and presented her with a flourish, revealing her to the audience with a sorcerer’s flair.

Brienne had always known it was going to take a miracle to turn her into a beauty queen, and Jaime had the right to glory in his creation. 

Shoulders dropped, chin high, slowly turning her head to survey the room, a benevolent queen smiling upon her subjects.

  
Number Seventeen was called, and Brienne stepped back to stand beside Margaery. Under the cover of her giant skirt, Margaery reached out her hand and took Brienne’s, and friends exchanged triumphant, fleeting smiles. 

The final girl took her place, and all that was left was to stand there in their finery as a moving and mawkish video of the past of Miss Casterly, the best performers, the prettiest gowns, the most admirable queens, played overhead to soul-stirring music, whilst the judges made their final scores.

The screen faded to black, and Daenerys Targaryen came to the stage, baring gold tiara on a plush red velvet cushion. Miss Casterly Rock had forgone the gaudier tiaras of the big city pageants. No two feet high rhinestone monstrosities for their beauty queens. Miss Casterly was crowned with a tiara of finely wrought soft gold, shaped like a wreath, and studded with pearls and rose quartz. 

She was followed by Lysa Arryn, carrying a gold sash and a giant bouquet of white calla lilies, ferns, and heather. Behind her came Miss Casterly Rock 2012, Arianne Martell, in a slinky, cream sheath, carrying two smaller bouquets of white roses, and two red sashes. 

Brienne could feel the girls around her take a collective breath, all eyes focusing in on the golden envelope in Daenerys’s tiny hand.

With a beatific smile, Daenerys passed the tiara to Genna, and opened the envelope. 

“Second runner up, for this year’s Miss Casterly Rock, Miss Merydith Crane!”

Merry clasped her hands to her lips, and smiling ear to ear, hurried forward to receive her sash and bouquet, stopping to hug Elinor and Talla on her way. The other girls clapped along with the audience, half despairing, half relieved.

Brienne took the time to spy a quick look at Jaime, waiting in the wings with the other escorts. The other boys didn’t seem quite sure what to make of him, eyeing his heels and corseted waist dubiously, but Jaime was standing tall above the rest and watching only her. She caught his eye and he winked. A small flutter rose in Brienne’s stomach. After today, she didn’t need pageant training anymore. There would be no more dances rehearsals or makeup runs. If she was going to see Jaime again after this night, she was going to have to take matters into her own hands.

“First runner up, Miss Margaery Tyrell!”

Brienne’s eyes widened in surprise. She had been  _ certain _ that Margery was destined for the crown. Her stomach dropped in disappointment.

But if Margaery was surprised, shocked or hurt at coming in silver, she didn’t let it show. Maybe she was just a good showman, but Brienne suspected that in the military campaign that was Margaery Tyrell’s quest for world domination, the beauty pageant was just a pit stop. Something to bulk up her CV and university applications, and there being the First Runner up of the Annual Miss Casterly Pageant sufficed nicely.

And Margaery Tyrell never needed a crown to know she was a queen. 

Margaery returned to her place by Brienne’s side and Brienne whispered a quick, “Well done,” beneath the applause.

The claps and cheers died down, and low, suspenseful music began to play as Daenerys dramatically unfolded the bottom part of the paper. She smiled tantalisingly at the audience, drawing out every long, cruel second. Behind her, Brienne could hear Number Fourteen practically sob from the anticipation, and all around the contestants breathed shallowly, the longing stealing the air from their lungs and setting theirs drumming furiously against their chest.

“And now... the winner… of the annual Miss Casterly Rock Pageant,.... and this year’s Miss Casterly Rock…” Daenerys announced with long, reverent pauses.

Brienne spied another look at Jaime. It was New Year’s tomorrow. Brienne couldn’t stand to miss her midnight walk to Casterly Peak, but she couldn’t bear it to walk it alone. Did Jaime even like walking? He would have to find some more sensible shoes.

“Miss Brienne Tarth!”

Brienne whipped her head around. Did somebody just call her name? Had she done something wrong?

All around her, ear shattering applause was breaking out, and there were thunderous cries coming from the audience. Margaery’s hand was on Brienne’s shoulder, lightly shoving her down from her step. She was saying something, but Brienne couldn’t make it out over the noise. Brienne squinted, trying to lip read Margaery’s voice, but Margaery kept breaking out into laughter and Brienne was left none the wiser.

Under the spotlight, Daenerys, Genna and Arianne were smiling in her direction, and Lysa Arryn was watching impatiently. Waiting for someone to step forward. Brienne checked over her shoulders to see if the one of the girls around her needed her to get out of the way so they could claim their prize. The amount of hugging and gentle shoving all the surrounding girls were now giving her made it almost seem like it was  _ her  _ everyone was waiting to see crowned, and Daenerys really did seem to be looking directly at her. 

Craning her head over the swarths of girls surging around her, Brienne sought out Jaime once more. He was laughing, bent double and gasping for air in his corset. He saw her looking and straightened himself against the wall, shoulders heaving, and began jerking his head in the direction of centre stage.

Brienne took one hesitant step forward, then another, and no one was telling her to back off and make room for the real beauty queen. Shaky and wobbly in her heels, she drew up before Daenerys and Genna, who both kept smiling and neither one looked as though they were about to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing. The audience kept applauding, and Daenerys took the sash from Lysa and motioned for Brienne to lower her head so the diminutive blonde could reach to place it over Brienne’s shoulder. Winner’s gold. And then, the crown.

The cold metal resting on Brienne’s head sent a jolt through Brienne like a lightning bolt, and she placed a reverential hand on the twisted gold. She had never owned anything so pretty, so delicate and lovingly created. Such things had always seemed wasted on girls like her. Such daintiness, such beauty, didn’t belong on Brienne’s body.

But actually, Brienne realised, she found the tiara fit her really quite well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Margaery Talent   
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/189878986470/zuhair-murad-aquatic-serenade-spring-2019-haute
> 
> Margaery evening  
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/172519910850/hamda-al-fahim-fall-2018-haute-couture-collection
> 
> Jaime Velvet Jacket  
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/177121900360/paolo-sebastian-the-nutcracker-fall-2018-haute
> 
> Brienne Talent Dress  
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/622796785727012864/royal-black-winter-solstice-corset-couture-gown
> 
> Brienne evening gown  
> https://evermore-fashion.tumblr.com/post/184460649240/hamda-al-fahim-interstellar-spring-2019-haute


	13. Epilogue

Jaime wore sensible hiking boots instead of heels, but he insisted Brienne wore her tiara, rammed on top of her woolly hat. He had barely allowed her to take it off. Neither did Cat and the Starks and Brynden and the rest of the Queensguard, and even the delivery man dropping off Ned’s new desk lamp had nervously asked to see it.

“It’s my victory as much as yours,” Jaime had claimed arrogantly. “And I have as much right ro revel in it as you do.”

“We can work out a joint custody scheme,” Brienne drawled sarcastically. “A week on with you, a week on with me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Jaime growled solemnly.

They had bundled up in jumpers and scarves and coats and gloves, and their backpacks were stuffed with spare torches and batteries and thermos full of hot chicken soup and hot sausage rolls and brownies and rolls fresh from the baker’s oven.

The climb up to Casterly Point was shadowed by the sweeping trees, and the path was crumbling and narrow. At times it twisted round the front of the cliff face and spray from the ocean would hit your cheeks. 

When Brienne was little, and the path slipped beneath her feet and the wide ocean looked so dark and deep, it was her father leading her through the darkness, his breath misty against the pitch sky, and step and song so steady and sure.

Hiking up with Jaime was another experience entirely. He feigned tumbling off the cliff edge and played at shying away from the shadows cast by the trees. He claimed to see faces in the woods and pleaded Brienne to hold his hand and spare him from the ‘dark creatures of these satanic mountains’.

His voice was pictchy and flat, switching jarringly from a high squeak to a low growl, and he made up half of the words, and Brienne could scarcely scold him into singing properly out of laughing.

Selwyn had always marched briskly to the peak, Brienne scurrying and skipping to keep up, and as such they always reached Casterly Point inplenty time, usually before any other fellow pilgrims were present. Thanks to Jaime’s antics, they arrived with barely a minute to spare, scrambling up the footpath just as the countdown began. 

_ “Eleven, twelve..” _

“You know,” Jaime whispered, taking Brienne’s gloved hand in his.

_ “Ten, nine..” _

“It’s traditional to welcome the New Year in with a kiss.”

_ “Eight, seven…” _

“And upholding traditions is a vital duty of Miss Casterly Rock.”

_ “Six, five..” _

Jaime stroked a stray lock of Brienne’s hair back into her hat, his mouth hovering over her cheek and breathing hot air down her throat.

_ “Four, three…” _

Brienne’s voice broke as she faced Jaime, his green eyes void of mirth and mockery.

_ “Two, one!” _

Above the crashing waves and the bellowing wind, merrymkaers broke into raucous cries of “Happy New Year”. Down in the valleys below, fireworks reached for the sky. Crackling and screeching all around as they painted the dark with streaks of purple and red and pink and green and silver and gold, whilst Brienne welcomed the News Years in the best way possible. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has left reviews! Loved hearing from all of you. Hope you enjoyed these final chapters. :)


End file.
